


What Made You Think You Can Get Away With This Crime Against Good Taste

by anonelson (schaadenfreude)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi, Other, [makes trans headcanons] [makes trans headcanons] [makes trans headcanons], eventual shuichi/kokichi/rantaro it will just be slow burn, i HAVE no shame thanks for asking, no beta readers we die like men, possibly some tenko/kaede on the side who knows, post-game fixit if by fixit you mean glaring daggers at the DR writers and mouthing die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schaadenfreude/pseuds/anonelson
Summary: "It's all right now. The game is over. Everyone is safe."if it wasn't obvious already, this is on a hiatus until i redo a few things and also finish up some other projects and hyperfixations, whoops
Kudos: 7





	1. [wakes up] [clown disappears]

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this may change, tbh, i am Not good at thinking up titles.
> 
> anyway, hi there, i only just finished watching a friend play v3 and i'm already on my shit again for a new fandom. credit for many of the pre/postgame personalities and identities for the characters goes in no small part to the folks in whose DMs i have been screeching about this nonstop for a week. y'all know who you are.
> 
> the rating and other such things about this may change as i write and post more; for now it's pretty chill, but as soon as everyone's favorite shithead gremlin Oma shows up, that may change. when applicable i will add content warnings to the beginnings of chapters.
> 
> for now, i'm sorta posting as i go, but with a buffer of a chapter or two that i hope to keep up with. this is looking like a slow burn sorta fic, and knowing how flaky i am with finishing fics i start, the buffer is my best chance of actually having content to post while i wrestle my adhd into actually following through. we'll see.

The light streaming through the hole Kiibo blasted in the barrier shone bright. Almost like –  
Once again, images and feelings piled up in my mind, scrambled out of any order or sense. Another Flashback Light?! Except this time, it didn’t end in moments. It went on, and on, and on –  
  


When I peeled my eyes open again, I had no idea where I was. Where I was supposed to be. What time was it, what day? Who am – no, I remember that, at least. I am Saihara Shuichi. That’s who I am.  
  
“Welcome back and congratulations, Mr. Saihara,” someone said. Someone I hadn’t noticed in the room with me at first. Dressed in something that wasn’t quite medical scrubs, but had that look. Only after I took in her appearance, her professional smile, did I process her words.  
  
“’Congratulations?’” Of the two parts of her statement to question, this isn’t the one I wanted to lead with, but it came out of my mouth first, so I just had to work with it. Speaking made me realize my throat was raw and sore. Had I been screaming? Was I ill? What was going on?  
  
She nodded, still professional, but not without sympathy. “Yes, you are one of the winners of this season’s game. It’s not uncommon to come out of the simulator a bit confused. Your memory of the game’s finale will return to you shortly.” She glanced to the side, reached for something, and then offered what she held to me. “Here, why don’t you drink this?” It was a cup with a plastic straw in it.  
  
The cup didn’t contain water; some kind of electrolyte or sports drink maybe? I don’t usually like those, but in that moment, with how thirsty I was, it tasted like ambrosia and soothed my raw throat. While I drained the cup, ignoring the straw altogether, I had a moment to think.  
  
Now that the – orderly? Nurse? Whatever she was – mentioned it, I remembered. The final trial; learning the truth about the killing game; Kiibo…  
  
And I remembered some other things, too. Things not from the game. I remembered sitting down in a curtained off space that reminded me too much of hospitals. Of another nurse telling me in a calm voice while I vibrated with anticipation, _“We’ll give you an IV sedative now, and the tech team will get you into the simulator while you’re under. You won’t remember any of this when you wake up in the game. You should remember it when you come out of the game, though, however that happens.”_ He’d paused to look me straight in the face. _“Remember, while you’re here and conscious, this is your last chance to back out. Are you sure you want to join the killing game?”  
_  
_“I’m ready,”_ I’d told him, feeling like I was already on top of the world. Not even the nurse sticking me with the needle had bothered me.  
  
I shook my head and the nurse, the one right in front of me and not in my memory, asked, “Sir? How are you feeling?” I looked at her and she gave me a rueful smile. “Yes, I know, that’s a silly question to ask of someone who just came out of a killing game. If you prefer different wording, ‘are you feeling any sort of vertigo or nausea?’”  
  
“No,” I said, then thought better. “Not, uh, not nausea. A little dizzy, maybe?” The while overhead lights made my head swim. Maybe I’d been hit with so many Flashback Lights that it was a permanent association now. Wouldn’t that be great…  
  
The nurse nodded. “That’s a common symptom. We can give you Dimenhydrinate if the vertigo is too severe, but if it’s mild, then food and bedrest should clear it up. We recommend you spend the first few hours after coming out of the simulator resting, anyway.”  
  
Simulator. The nurse, both nurses, had used that word a lot. Did it mean what I thought it meant? “Uh,” I began, but stopped myself. Too late; the nurse refocused her eyes on me expectantly.  
  
She was going to think I was an idiot, asking stupid questions and babbling like I had no idea what was going on. Which, well, I didn’t, but I felt like I should. She was acting like I should know.  
  
“Yes?” the nurse said. When I refused to raise my eyes or continue, she asked, in a kind tone, “Still missing a few pieces?”  
  
I nodded, ashamed.  
  
“Don’t worry. The tech team is pretty good about giving back enough memories to help players get their feet under them after the game, but it’s not perfect. What’s confusing you?”  
  
The nurse’s matter-of-fact attitude helped. Thank goodness for professionalism. Well, if she could be collected in the face of, whatever was going on, then I should, too. I raised my eyes again. “Um, ‘simulator?’ I thought the game was – was real. We were really there, really–” really killing, really dying…  
  
The nurse’s expression went sympathetic and a little sad. “It was real, at least as far as all of your experiences. You and fifteen other players spent that time together and did those things together. It just took place in a virtual reality setting.”  
  
I remembered something else. Sitting down with a thick stack of paper and a pen and somebody in a suit, explaining all the fine print to me. _“Team Danganronpa is not responsible for blah blah blah,”_ the usual legal jargon. I’d already known how it went; I’d watched all the pre-season and post-season episodes of interviews with the players, read all the articles and statements. I’d known everything there was to know about Danganronpa already; everything except what it felt like to be in the game. Was the virtual reality just like real life, or was it like a dream? I’d always wondered what it would feel like, whether dying in the game felt the same as dying in reality.  
  
I nodded, because the nurse was giving me a concerned look. “Right, yeah, I-I remember now. Thanks.” I was glad to know it wasn’t as real as it had felt. That all those people weren’t literally dead. This was a good thing. A very good thing. I just… after everything, I hardly knew what to believe anymore.  
  
The nurse stepped toward me with a hand outstretched. “If you’re ready, I can help you get to a more comfortable place where you can rest a while. Once you’ve had a little time to adjust, you’ll have the opportunity to ask questions of someone who can answer them properly.” Her hand cupped my elbow. “I can give you this reassurance. The game is over. Everyone is safe.”  
  
The game is over… I nodded and allowed the nurse to help me to my feet. The game is over. My body was weak as a kitten, so I had to lean on the nurse’s arm as we walked down a hall. The game is over. I was brought to a space that looked like a very expensive hotel suite, slick and modern. The game is over. The nurse left me sitting on the edge of the bed, told me to stay here for the next day or so, as if I could’ve moved more than five feet. The game is over.  
  
According to the next nurse I met, who came in an hour later with a loaded tray of food, this season’s game had lasted nearly a month. A month where my body, my real one, had been mostly stationary, maintained by the IV feed. “That’s why you’re getting high calorie food while you’re here and not the usual bland hospital crap,” this nurse said blithely, setting the tray down on the desk. “Get some weight back on you. Everybody who lasts the whole game comes out of it gaunt as a bear in spring!”  
  
That was an understatement. I thanked the nurse and, when he’d gone, I ate every bit of the food. Even the broccoli. For lack of anything better to do with the empty tray, I carried it to the front of the suite and left it by the door. Even that took so much energy that I wobbled back to the bed and flopped down on it, face-first. I don’t remember falling asleep.


	2. the fic title was almost "i write sins not tragedies" and i'm still tempted to change it

It was probably a good thing I couldn’t remember anything about my dreams. I recall waking with the sense of dread that had become like an old friend over the past week, but by the time the nurse, the same one from dinner, had dropped off a new tray with breakfast and wished me a cheery “Good morning!” that dread had dissolved. The game was over. But where was I now? What was going to happen next? Was anyone else here? Were Maki and Himiko getting the same treatment? What about the others, who’d – who’d died? Were Kaito and the others here, too? Did they remember?

I ate breakfast anyway. The nurse hadn’t been kidding last night; this food was rich and hearty. It made me feel a little better, at least until I remembered Tojo. Was Tojo Kirumi here, too?

Though the sound of someone knocking on the front door of the suite half an hour after breakfast made me jump, I was glad for it. I didn’t know what to think about anything, hardly knew how to; my thoughts were all running in circles. I needed _something_ else to do. That’s why I got up and answered the door, opening it without even looking through the peephole.

The woman standing there in a nice suit, briefcase in hand, smiled a cool, professional smile. “Good morning, Mr. Saihara. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Takahashi Noriko, your agent. If you’re feeling up to it, I’m here to talk about how you want to handle your memories of the game. And a few other things.”

“Yes!” I blurted, hand clenching around the doorknob. Then I winced, embarrassed, and tried again with more moderation. “Um, I mean, yes please, Ms. Takahashi. Come in.” I stepped back to let her into the suite.

Thankfully for my nerves, she made no comment about my outburst. She just came in and settled into one of the comfortable armchairs in the front room. I sat in the middle of the couch adjacent to her armchair while she went through whatever paperwork she kept in her briefcase. In a conversational tone, she said, “I’m told they just woke you up yesterday, is that correct?”

“Yes. Last night, I think.” I glanced over my shoulder as if I could see the window in the bedroom from here, though I couldn’t.

She placed her laptop in front of her, open and booting up, and a folder thick with printer paper. “Everyone seems to have a different grasp on events outside the game when they wake up. Would you mind telling me what you remember from before you started the game?”

I looked down at my hands, clasped around the acid washed denim covering my knees. It felt weird to be wearing something besides those uniforms… “Uhm, not, uh, not much, I’m afraid. Just that I, uh, I was excited. I think. I feel like…” I searched for words that wouldn’t make that past version of me sound like a complete nutcase, “like I thought I knew what I was getting into.”

My agent (apparently) nodded. “Yes. The last time we met, you and I went through the whole contract that explained in detail what could happen during the game and what to expect. How much of that do you recall?”

“A little.” Not as much as I wanted to.

“Well, since that was meant to inform the applicants beforehand and scare away the ones who weren’t serious about participating, most of what we discussed then is moot right now,” Takahashi said dryly. “I only brought it up because it described the process of changing your memories.”

I finally glanced up at her. She nodded. Despite her tone, a bit of actual emotion – sympathy maybe? – thawed the professional mask she wore over her makeup. “The part that is relevant right now is this: you have the choice to remember as much or as little as you wish. If you decide to leave your memories of life before the game forgotten, you may. If you want to forget the game, both your game-self’s fabricated backstory and the events of the game itself, you may. Or you can keep the game memories and also have your old ones returned. That has been done before, though the players who have chosen that option usually experience some confusion when the manufactured memories conflict with genuine ones.”

I blinked. Hadn’t Tsumugi said – well, Tsumugi had said _a lot_ of things, some of which were clearly untrue. So I shouldn’t be surprised that her claims about our past lives, our real ones, being irretrievable, were lies. That was a bit of a relief. No, not a bit. It was a huge relief.

Takahashi nodded again. “You don’t need to decide right away. You’ll be asked to stay in this facility to recover for at least a week; and even then, if you change your mind after that, you can always come back.” She waved a hand. “It will take more paperwork if you change your mind after leaving here, since they’ll need to make sure you’re who you say you are and all that, but it’s possible. I’ve had a client or two do that before.”

I opened my mouth to accept, to tell her I wanted my old memories back, then paused. What did I know about who I was before? The sort of person who’d wanted to participate in a killing game, even one with no actual consequence of death. The sort of person who’d been _excited_ to play the killing game. Who had watched all the episodes, right down to the interviews. What did that say about that person? Did I want to be him again?

“Ah, does, um,” I said instead, stupidly, “There isn’t, um, a way for – for me to, well…” How did you ask your agent if she could help you figure out who you’d been before you got your memories wiped so you could decide whether you wanted anything to do with that former self? “S-sorry, let me try again. What’s the, uh, usual procedure? For getting memories back, I mean.”

Takahashi tilted her head to the side. “If you’re asking how they put the memories back in your head, I don’t know. That’s something you can ask their tech team. If you’re asking what I _think_ you’re asking, which is whether you can know what kinds of memories you’ll be getting back if you choose to remember your old life…” she trailed off and I nodded in relief. “Then the answer is, technically yes? It depends. One of the things the Danganronpa people do before a game is to have all their players do a little video recording, as a memo to themselves when they get out. Some people talk about themselves more than others, but either way, it’s from yourself, to yourself. You can also get the notes from the psychologist who did your pre-game tests, if you like.”

Thank god. “I would like that, please. Can you also tell me who to ask for the video?” I wasn’t sure how much to trust it, but any evidence was worthwhile, right?

“I’ve got it here.” Takahashi tapped the trackpad on her laptop a few times, then reached down to withdraw a set of simple headphones from her briefcase. “I take it you want to see it now?”

“Yes, please.” I accepted the headphones and the laptop, which had a video player maximized on the screen. The first frame of the video was… god, it felt so odd seeing myself look up at me from under the visor of a battered cap. I settled the headphones on and hit play.

 _“Not really sure how to start,”_ the me I didn’t remember said. His – my – eyes were fever-bright. _“Still too hyped. I’m gonna be in season fifty-three of Danganronpa!”_ He grinned like a hyena for a moment, then sobered. _“I hope it’s as good as last season. I hope I don’t mess up and die the first day. Dunno if I could live with myself if I fu- if I messed up my one shot at being on the show.”_ This person who was supposed to be me cut his eyes away from the camera, hiding his expression behind the cap. _"Knowing me, I probably will. That’s what everyone said. That I’m too unobservant, that I’d never make a convincing Detective no matter how much of my memories they change.”_ His – my – voice was low and sullen, dejected. _“I’ll show them. I’ll be the Ultimate Detective! I’ll do my best to win the killing game!”_

There was more, but I had to hit pause and shut my eyes. What was this feeling? Besides bone-deep discomfort, that is. Did it make me sad to hear myself sound like that? Did I feel sorry for this former self? Did it make me angry? I had no idea. It all churned together with my half-digested breakfast until I regretted finishing the whole thing. It didn’t stop me from playing the rest of the video. No matter how uncomfortable it was, I needed to know.

“Mr. Saihara?” Takahashi asked when I pulled the headphones off.

I tried to smile, or at least look less, uh, whatever I was feeling. “Sorry. Thank you, uh, for bringing this.” I slid the laptop back over to her. “May I still have the psychologist’s number so I can get the files?”

She unplugged the headphones from the jack. “Oh, there’s no need. You’ll have an appointment with him while you’re here.”

That made sense. I didn’t really look forward to talking to a psychologist about, well, anything, but at least I could ask for the files. “O-okay. Thank you again.”

Takahashi nodded. “Just doing my job. Actually, one of the reasons I’m here this morning is to see when you’d like to have your first appointment with them. The psychologist. I have a list of times he’s open and I can get you down for one of them.” She paused to study me for a moment, then added, “It’s better to get it out of the way sooner.”

Well, the sooner I get this appointment, the sooner I can see the files. “Um, are there any available today?”

A faint smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “Let’s check.” Takahashi tapped and scrolled on the trackpad of her laptop for a bit, then nodded. “Yes, there are a few today. There’s one right after lunch, one at around three, and another at four.”

“Ah, After lunch, please.”

A bit of typing, a few clicks, then Takahashi nodded. “You’re in.” She fished around in the folder on the table until she withdrew a sheet of paper with some kind of map drawn on it. “It’s in this room. If you get confused, there will be employees all over this facility and they’ll give you directions. The appointment is at one-thirty.”

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the map. Well, this place couldn’t be worse to navigate than the school. And it was better than having the psychologist come in here, right?

“You’re welcome. There’s more information in this folder. A copy of the contract you sighed, some other information sheets the Danganronpa people hand out, that sort of thing,” Takahashi said, sliding the folder across to me. “My number is in there, too, in case you need me between now and when I come back.”

Come back? What… “Uhm, when you…?”

“Once you’ve got your memories sorted and the go-ahead to discharge, I’ll be back to help you work out the next step.” My face must have changed, because she smiled again. “Don’t worry about that too much yet. One step at a time.”

While I was still processing that, Takahashi packed up her briefcase, leaving only the folder on the coffee table in front of me. She rose, so I did, too. “Congratulations, by the way, Mr. Saihara. I gather this was an exciting season; it’s all anyone’s talking about on social media.”

Right, because only the four of us who were left to fight Tsumugi thought the game needed to end. That thought kicked me in the gut so hard it was all I could do to mumble something polite in reply to my agent’s praise. Thankfully, if she noticed, she didn’t say anything about it and left me to think in peace.

The killing game wasn’t real. It all happened in virtual reality. No one was dead; everyone was fine. The others were probably given the same choice I just had; to keep or discard all memory of the game. Would any of them? Would they choose to forget everything and go back to their old lives? Would any of them discard their former selves and live on as the people Team Danganronpa made them? … Which was worse?

Was it better or worse to know that, despite everything that happened in that last trial, there was a chance the killing games would go on? If no one actually died, if this “Ultimate Real Fiction” actually took place in a virtual reality where no one really got hurt, was there any reason to stop? Why would they? The ending of this fifty-third season would just give them more fodder for the next season, the next arc. Was that wrong, or was I wrong to hate it? Was I clinging too hard to something that wasn’t real?

Those thoughts kept me well occupied until lunch, when the same nurse brought more food and took away the tray from breakfast. I finally got up the courage to ask, “So, am I under house arrest, or something?”

He laughed. “Sorta. Until you get the chance to talk to the shrink, they figure it’s best to let you decompress on your own for a bit. You seem pretty stable, though, so I expect the shrink will give you the okay. The rest of the players from this season are all still here, so you’ll be able to hang out with them later. Some of them. Some are still in isolation for their own safety.”

The others… I nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” I took the loaded tray from him. He bid me a cheerful farewell and I bolted lunch, still absorbed in my thoughts. Now they bent toward the others.

I’d watched them die, some of them, and seen the bodies of others. But they were here, because the game hadn’t been real. Now it was over, the credits rolled, and poof! Everything was back to normal.

Except it wasn’t back to normal. Did “normal” even have any meaning now? Maybe I was just being melodramatic about it. That was probably it. I needed something else to think about or do. There was a laptop, I could boot it up. I assumed it was _my_ laptop, because it was here along with other belongings that were blatantly mine. But the top cover was plastered edge to edge with Danganronpa stickers and decals. I didn’t want to touch it.

At least the appointment with the psychologist was soon. Too soon; I glanced at the wall clock idly and saw it was 1:26. Shit! I lurched off the couch, almost knocking over the empty tray, snatched the map, and then stopped. Did I have a key to this room? Could it even lock? I hunted around the suite for a minute until I found a cardkey on the desk next to “my” laptop. It would have to do!

Thankfully for how out of shape I was, the office wasn’t far. Just down a single flight of stairs I took way too fast. If I burst into the ante-office panting and shaking a little, well, at least the person at the reception desk didn’t bat an eye. She took my name and, on recognizing it, told me to go right in.

I’d never been in a psychologist’s office before, so I had no idea what to expect. This room looked like nothing so much as an out-of-the-way corner in a library, what with two of the walls being almost completely covered with bookshelves. Books weren’t the only things on those shelves, though. Some of the space was taken up by what I could only think of as knickknacks; the items defied any other descriptor. That was all I had a chance to look at before movement at the desk squished into one corner drew my eyes.

A man I would have thought of as tiny if I hadn’t met Oma Kokichi rose from his office chair. “Welcome, welcome! You’re my one-thirty appointment, I take it?”

“Uh, yes,” I said, “Am, uh, I’m sorry if I’m late.”

“Nonsense, you’re just on time. Come, sit! Would you like some tea?” The man, who was one of those people who looked the same between the ages of thirty and seventy, waved me over with a smile. “If no one reminded you, I’m Dr. Ikeda Arata. You may call me Arata or Ikeda, whichever you please. Do you have a preference for what I call you?”

I wasn’t sure which question to answer first. I obeyed his beckoning to sit on the couch and managed a faint, “Ah, no? I-I mean, uh, calling me Shuichi is fine?”

Arata dragged his rolling office chair across so he could sit facing me. “Shuichi it is. How about tea?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.”

“Very well.” Arata reached backward onto his desk to grab a clipboard that already had a stack of paper on it. He handed it across to me. “Would you mind filling out that top form for me, Shuichi? It’s just the normal intake form. Who are you, why are you here, that sort of thing. If you answer the ‘why are you here’ bit with ‘I’m here because I have to be for these Danganronpa maniacs to let me go,’ it still counts.” His eyes twinkled. “And, oh, if you like, you can add your pronouns to the line with your name. I’m an old fuddy-duddy with bad eyes and a worse memory, you see.” He tapped the rim of his reading glasses.

I managed a more genuine smile. “I’ll do that, thank you, Dr. Ikeda.”

Once I’d passed it back to him, Arata spent a moment peering through his reading glasses to study the form. “I see you took me at my word,” he observed, tapping the form with a grin. I had written down almost exactly what he said in response to the ‘What caused you to seek counseling here’ question. “Good. I enjoy talking to people with a sense of humor.” He set the clipboard down on his lap. “So. You’re here because this appointment is mandatory, as part of the procedure to help Danganronpa participants come to terms with the events of the game. I should tell you that I haven’t seen anything of this season; I wouldn’t even if I was permitted to, which I’m not, since I’m here counseling you. However, I’m not a stranger to the game. I was in one, years ago. So if you’re worried about sounding like a raving lunatic, talking about a television show like it’s real life, don’t be.”

 _That_ took me by surprise. It was clearly written on my face, too, because Arata grinned wider. “My experience in that game and after it is one of the reasons I’m here, doing this. But this isn’t about me,” he said, sobering a little. “It’s about you.”

I couldn’t hold his eyes, not when they had that look in them. Sure, the nurses had been sympathetic, but Arata’s regard held a sort of empathy that cut right through me. I hardly knew what I mumbled, because Arata was clearly waiting for some kind of response to that.

“Even if you see this appointment as nothing more than a chore, or as an excuse to look at the notes I took during your pre-game evaluation, it doesn’t change the fact that this is to help you come to terms with the game and all its ramifications,” Arata said when the silence held for too long. “The help is here, if you are willing to accept it.”

“I understand,” I mumbled to my lap. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A creak marked Arata leaning back in his chair. “So. Was my guess that you want to see the evaluation notes correct?”

“… yes,” I admitted. “Was it that obvious?”

Arata hummed thoughtfully. His chair creaked again. “To be fair, since I did the evaluation, I have the advantage.” The sound of papers rustling and the tiny whine of metal. “Here they are, Shuichi.”

Looking up, I saw Arata leaning across the space, holding out the clipboard again. I took it. Despite my worst fears, the notes weren’t full of comments like ‘serial killer waiting to happen’ or anything. There were a few acronyms I didn’t get, and terse references to things I didn’t understand, but it mostly just looked like, well, like notes. Like he was writing down what I’d said as I said it. There were very few observations of his own until the end, and those were mostly banal versions of thoughts I had while reading. _‘DR is special interest, refers to it as “obsession,” but has self-imposed limits. Home life “indifferent.” Pursuing criminal justice for uni. Always bored in public school, bullied, “the usual for smart kids with no interest in sucking up and being popular.”’_

Arata stayed silent, giving me as much time to read as I needed. The words were simultaneously a relief and a disappointment; on the one hand, at least this psychologist didn’t think he – I was a budding serial killer, despite the creepy obsession with Danganronpa. On the other… what? Why was I so disappointed? Had I expected to be something _other_ than a nerdy kid who filled the emotional void left by an indifferent family and no friends with a murder mystery reality television show?

“I think,” I said slowly, trying not to let Arata hear the threat of tears in my voice, “I still, uhm,” I had to clear my throat. “I’d still like to get these memories back. And keep the ones from the game.”

“Of course.” Arata said softly. Then, “Do you feel comfortable telling me how you feel? About reading those notes.”

I glanced up at him. His expression was so compassionate I had to look away again. “I dunno. How’m I supposed to feel?”

“’Supposed to?’ There isn’t a ‘supposed to.’ It’s just, how you feel.”

I shrugged. “It still doesn’t feel real yet.” Which was true, but also, not quite the full answer. Maybe all that time I spent with Kokichi rubbed off on me.

“That’s understandable,” Arata said. “If you’ll forgive an educated guess, I’d say you’re not altogether comfortable with what you just read. Am I correct?”

I huffed. “Pretty much.”

“Now, what I’m about to ask isn’t something you need to answer right away. You don’t even have to tell me anything. I just want you to have these questions in your mind. Okay?” He waited for a response, so I nodded, still looking away. He asked, “If you’re uncomfortable or disappointed, why? What would you have wanted to find out? Is the discomfort something you think will bother you when you get those memories back in full?”

That last one I already knew the answer to. It had been lurking in the back of my awareness since I woke up in this place. “Well, I’m already uncomfortable with myself in other ways, so it won’t be much of a change.” But like hell was I going into my dysphoria with this guy, not right now, no matter how friendly he was. “Besides, I’d be more uncomfortable knowing there were things that had happened to me that I didn’t remember.”

“Ah,” Arata said. That wasn’t as smug a sound as it could’ve been. “So you would prefer discomfort to not knowing, is that it?”

“Hard truths, I can deal with. That’s just the way things are, anyway, so why try to pretend it’s not? I prefer to know what’s true, what’s real, even if I don’t like it.” Even if it hurts me. … and it’s hurt more than just me, hasn’t it? I swallowed and shook my head to put that thought aside. “I don’t like lying to myself.”

Arata was nodding. “That’s brave of you, Shuichi. Not everyone has the guts to look a hard truth straight in the eyes.”

I scoffed and just _barely_ stopped myself from saying something needlessly edgy like ‘or stupid, not knowing when to leave well enough alone, like when I blew Kokichi and Kaito’s plan to stump Monokuma.’

“Was that a self-deprecating scoff I just heard?”

I glared at Arata, who grinned unrepentantly back. “No.”

“And who was it just said he doesn’t like lying?”

“To myself. No promises about lying to others.”

“Hm, maybe that’s why your lies are transparent.”

“Wh- excuse me?” I huffed. “We just met, you don’t get to say that sort of thing!”

Arata’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Oh, don’t I? What do you think those degrees on the wall are for? Not decoration, that’s for sure.” He winked. “I’ve met a lot of people who’ve tried lying. Some are better than others. The ones who lie best do it because they believe it themselves, so it doesn’t even feel like a lie to them. But someone who professes himself opposed to that?”

This was starting to sound like one of those bizarre conversations with Kokichi. I considered arguing back, but since he was fundamentally correct (damn it,) I didn’t feel like putting up the effort. “Fine. You got me. So what?”

“So what?” Arata parroted, eyebrows rising. “You admit to self-deprecating thoughts. Not that we all aren’t prone, every now and again. I just thought to point out that you responded to a compliment, given honestly, with some sort of denial or dismissal.”

“If you’re trying to make me realize that I’ve got self esteem issues, you’re a little late on that,” I told him. I wanted to be annoyed at how much he was clearly enjoying himself, but I couldn’t.

“What if I was trying to get you out of your shell a little? Make you look me in the eye and speak with confidence, instead of talking to the floor?” He tapped the side of his nose. “Maybe a little of both, you think? I can occasionally be clever.”

Damn it. I crossed my arms over my chest and pointedly looked away. “Well, Dr. Ikeda, you drew me out. Congratulations.” Was I enjoying this, too? It wasn’t like I had much chance to banter with anybody before, other than Kokichi. I never realized how fun it was. Damn it.

Arata cackled, rocking back in his chair. “Don’t act so sullen, young man, it doesn’t suit you.”

I rolled my eyes, and had to admit to myself it was as much for his benefit as for mine, because when he laughed again, I had to fight a smile.

“That’s better,” Arata said, grinning back at me. He glanced at the wall clock and sighed. “Well, as much as I’d enjoy heckling you some more, we’re out of time. I’ll send word to the tech team about your decision regarding your memories – assuming you still want to get the old ones back?”

Right, that conversation had come before Arata started teasing me. I nodded. “Yes.”

Arata took the clipboard back from me and scribbled something down on it. “All right, I’ll tell them. It doesn’t usually take them long to get that processed, so you’ll have that done either tonight or tomorrow. I think they try to do it later in the day so you go to bed shortly after. They’ve told me dreaming does actually help process it all, so make sure you get lots of REM sleep in the next few days.” He glanced up at me, so I nodded confirmation. He continued, “I’ll send the all clear and say you can have free reign of the facility. If you get the memories back tonight, though, I strongly recommend keeping an eye on your emotional levels and be smart about when you feel up to company.”

“Someone told me that almost everybody is here? With, uh, able to roam, I mean,” I said. I was desperate to know more about how the others were doing.

“Almost all, yes. For confidentiality reasons, I can’t specify more than that.”

“No, that’s all right,” I said, and managed to mean it enough that Arata seemed to accept it.

Then he pulled a few sheets off the clipboard and handed them to me. “You can keep this copy of those notes, if you like, or just pitch it if you don’t. I wrote down a few of the important phone numbers for this facility, including mine. This is the one for the office, and this one’s for me personally. I trust you know the appropriate moments to use both of them?”

“I’ll make sure to call you in the middle of the night to reschedule an appointment,” I said, and he laughed.

“That’s the spirit, Shuichi.” He put a hand out, not touching me, but in the spirit of it. “Would you find it onerous to come back for a check-up in, oh, two or three days? Once you’ve gotten your memory back and had some time to think about it?”

I answered without even thinking about it. “Oh, uh, sure. I mean, no, I wouldn’t – I mean–”

Arata chuckled and raised his other hand to stop me. “I know what you mean, Shuichi. Same time of day work for you?”

“Yes,” I said, into my hand that covered my face so he didn’t see whatever expression was on it.

“Then I’ll see you on Friday at one-thirty.” He saw me out of the room.

Once I was in the hall again, walking the route I had sprinted earlier, I felt hollow. Had spending an hour with a stranger who alternated between teasing me and poking far-too-pointed questions at me really improved my spirits so much? Well, if was his job, after all. I guess Dr. Ikeda really earned his paycheck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some named side characters who hogged a whole lot of words between them and i couldn't justify cutting out much since it's all fairly relevant. tune in next time for, gasp! hanging out with the actual DR characters!


End file.
